


The Cold Sands of Anatidae

by Sorcyress



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 19:32:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorcyress/pseuds/Sorcyress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Ford find themselves abandoned by their previous hosts, in the middle of damn near nowhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cold Sands of Anatidae

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lovelokest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelokest/gifts).



Arthur awoke with the feeling of cotton in his mouth and a mild headache. He smacked his lips a few times, and swallowed, trying to make it go away. A pause. Slowly, blearily, he reached his hands to his mouth. He grasped _something_ and peered at it, trying to work out what exactly had been in his mouth.  


It was a towel. More accurately, it was the corner of a largish bath towel, coloured a light blue, and a bit dingy from having traveled most of the way across the universe and back again on only thirty Alterian dollars a day. Arthur frowned as he tried to remember why towels were so important, then gave up and looked around his surroundings.  


He appeared to be sitting in the middle of nowhere, provided the middle of nowhere was at the base of a cliff, opposite another cliff, and covered in light purple sand. He had no recollection of how he had gotten there nor of where he was going next, until his eyes fell on a shape beside him. The face was obscured by the other corner of the dingy blue towel, but a shock of gingery hair was showing.  


It was enough to reboot his memory, although Arthur promptly wished it hadn't. He was light years from where home no longer was, he was roving the universe with an alien who happened to moonlight as a reporter for that truly remarkable book, The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, and he had a headache because there had been a party the night previous where said alien had enticed him into some sort of awful drinking game, and they'd each drunken enough to pickle the remains of a Floogarian Duckfish[1].  


"Ford." Arthur moaned. "Ford, I think we've been abandoned!" Slowly, the previous night --or was it day, being in space wrecked havoc on one's day-planner-- was reforming in Arthur's mind. Bits and flashes ambled across his brain, maybe something about five-dimensional karaoke...? He shook the thought aside and grabbed Ford's shoulder. "Ford!" he said quite firmly.  


The Betelguisian responded by rolling over and emitting a snuffling snore. Arthur pouted for a moment, then decided that if he had to be awake with a hangover, he was bloody well going to have company for it. He grabbed the towel sharply and pulled it away from Ford entirely.  


Ford Prefect was awake in a flash, scrambling to his feet and flailing his limbs out in something that might have once been a defensive position, before weapons had been invented. He blinked mildly, just once, and his gangly limbs relaxed as he took in the situation. "Oh hello Arthur. May I have my towel back?"  


"Not until we're somewhere safe." Arthur said sulkily, wrapping the towel around his shoulders. "Ford, I think we've been abandoned here!"  


Ford looked around mildly. "That's a bit dull, isn't it? Why would we be abandoned?" Arthur attempted to give him a scathing look, which Ford ignored entirely. Instead, the ginger alien pulled out a small electronic book that the people of Earth had only been about thirty years from creating. Unfortunately, before they could accomplish it, they had all been killed in the utter destruction of their planet in order to make way for a hyperspace bypass. Ford scrolled through the index, until he found what he was looking for. It was the group of nomads they had previously been travelling with, the Anatidaen Bandits.  


The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy has this to say about the Anatidaen Bandits. They are a friendly nomadic tribe from the Anatoidea system, well known for inviting hitchhikers into their overland ships, and allowing the hitchhikers whatever they need, for as long as they remain entertaining. Anatidaen Bandits are equally well known for tossing hitchhikers back out into the wasteland of their planetary system on little provocation. If the hitchhikers are lucky, they will be allowed to keep their pants. Under no circumstances should you allow them to entice you into a kareoke contest, fifth-dimensional or otherwise.  


Arthur looked down at Ford's legs. Ford looked down at Arthur's legs. Both looked up, and shared an awkward moment where neither seemed entirely sure how to respond. "It is a very nice kilt." Arthur said finally, at the same time Ford said "At least your skirt's a nice material."

***

Then followed a short time in which Ford seemed insistent on twirling as much as possible, apparently to examine the effect it had on the hem of the kilt. Arthur found this by turns distracting and annoying, and finally demanded to know how they were going to get off this bloody planet. Ford looked up mildly with a slightly confused expression on his face.  


"We hitchhike, of course." as though the answer was utterly obvious. At Arthur's annoyed glance, the alien sat down and pulled the Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic out of his pack, to determine where the nearest spaceship was, so that they could properly catch a lift. He fiddled with the dials for several minutes, frowning.  


"Ah." he said finally, in a manner that was no way hopeful or enthusiastic.  


"Ah?" Arthur responded.  


"It appears that we can't exactly get a signal from down here." Quickly, he looked up and around at the canyon walls. "We need to find a place to climb up!"  


"Ford, I'm wearing a skirt."  


"Yes, and you look very good in it."  


"Well I'm not climbing any canyons, is the point!" Arthur felt slightly off-balance. "And I don't look good, I look ridiculous!"  


"No, no, that red is absolutely your colour. Much better than your ratty dressing gown." Ford carefully packed the pieces of the device away, and stood, offering Arthur an arm. "Shall we see if the canyon becomes more shallow then?"  


Arthur ignored the arm and started walking along the canyon floor. Ford hesitated for a half-moment, then followed.  


The walk was terrible. The sand had just enough give to it to make their footing treacherous, and Arthur's skirt kept tangling itself around his legs. On several occasions, these factors combined themselves to result in Arthur tripping, and at one point he fell rather hard onto the purple sand, scraping up his hands and causing dark streaks to appear on the skirt. As Ford helped him to his feet, Arthur made the impressive mistake of muttering "What else could possibly go wrong?"  


Ford gleefully launched into a long explanation of all the possible things that, in fact, could go wrong. They could starve, they could freeze, their babelfishes could spontaneously explode --all the common horrors of an adventure[2] like this. Upping the ante, Ford then started to tell stories of all the horrific creatures that lived on this or similar planets, most of which would be more than happy to find a hapless pair of weirdos like themselves, and kill and eat them both. Arthur mostly ignored Ford's predictions of doom (especially the tale of the Great Green Bufflehead Diver, which Arthur was almost positive Ford had made up (Ford hadn't.)). But as the sun began to set, causing the shadows in the canyon to grow long and dark over them, Arthur began to feel a little less blasé towards his impending doom.  


"...and it has this terrible flat duckbill, which really doesn't sound so bad, except that the whole thing is covered in spines --the bill I mean, not the worm. About half the spines are poison-tipped, but luckily it's fairly easy to identify which, as they sort of glow a reddish colour, and as long as you can dodge the worst of them, you're fairly likely to survive. I'd say at least a thirty percent chance, anyway. Oo, and--"  


Arthur interrupted, a note of panic entering his voice. "Ford, just how much longer until we're somewhere safe?"  


Ford clapped him on the shoulder in a way that utterly failed to be comforting. "Another half hour or so, and we should be enough out of the canyon that the Sens-O-Matic will work properly. Then I'm certain a spaceship will be along any moment that we can flag down with the Thumb."  


Arthur didn't bother to point out that Ford's certainty of a ship being around any moment was what had caused him to become stranded on the Earth for fifteen years in the first place. Partly this was out of some failed notion of being polite, but mostly because if Ford hadn't been trapped, the two wouldn't have ever met, and Arthur would have been killed alongside the rest of his kind when the Earth was destroyed to make way for a hyperspace bypass. Arthur did grudgingly prefer to be alive, although he privately thought you could hardly call gallivanting through the stars with a madman "living".

***

The sand sloped gently upwards beneath their feet. They were finally out of the heights of the canyon, winding their way up to the top rim. In the last rays of the setting sun, Arthur could look back over their path, out across the deep purple canyon. It weaved and meandered as far as the eye could see, with the cliffs showing stripes and patterns from the different shades of sand and rock. It was an exquisite sight, one of the minor wonders of the universe, and the beauty would drive poets mad with the compulsion to describe perfectly how the colours swirled together, and how the light dazzled the eyes.  


Arthur was not a poet, however. He was a man, one who was hungry, tired, and suddenly quite cold as they reached the open top of the canyon, and the wind was no longer blocked by the cliffs. As Ford settled in with the Sub-Etha Sens-O-Matic again, Arthur took advantage of his distraction to rummage through Ford's satchel, looking for anything to eat. He found a half-empty bag of peanuts, and a bottle of something that looked a bit like blue-tinted water, and was almost definitely very alcoholic. He quietly put them both back, and huddled more into the towel, which was still draped around his shoulders from when he had stolen it.  


Ford looked up and grinned. "Looks like it will be about four hours. And good news, it's not Vogons this time!"  


"Four hours? Ford, I'm freezing!" The sun had well and truly set, and as darkness fell around them, so did the temperature, rather quicker than expected.  


"Well, you're the one with the towel, how do you think I feel?" Ford grabbed the edge of his towel and yanked, which had the unintended effect of causing Arthur to fall over into his lap. There was a scramble of limbs and cloth, and Arthur's skirt got ripped --a long rent just above his knees. The material had already been thin, but now it allowed the wind to play at his legs, and he huddled up, looking rather miserable, with the skirt pulled around as much of him as he could manage.  


Ford had won the struggle for the towel, but seeing Arthur's expression, he was kind enough to throw half of it over his friend. Arthur went very still at the sudden closeness, but after he determined Ford really did mean the gesture as a kindness, he relaxed. He leaned against Ford gently, which had the added benefit of transferring heat.  


"Since when are you so warm?" Arthur mumbled, resting his head on Ford's shoulder. It wasn't particularly becoming to be so cuddled up, but at the moment, he was tired enough not to care.  


"I have an effective metabolism. I'm usually at least this warm." Ford awkwardly snaked a hand up to Arthur's head and ruffled the Earth-man's hair. "Are you always this cold?"  


"That depends on whether or not I've had any tea." Arthur muttered crankily, and Ford laughed. They sat in silence for several long minutes, staring at the blinking lights of the Sens-O-Matic. "What are we supposed to do for four hours?"  


"You could sleep." Ford offered. He had draped his arm around Arthur's back, with the hand resting rather comfortably at his leg. They pulled closer together, and Arthur made a small noise of contentment. "You look tired."  


"It _was_ a lot of walking." Arthur murmured, his eyes half-closed. "I've traveled to the end of the universe and back with you, the least you could do is let me get some rest." Ford nodded, and set about tucking the edges of the towel and skirt more around Arthur, wrapping him up as best as possible.  


Arthur felt something strange on the top of his head, and his eyes shot open. "Did you just kiss me?" he demanded, giving Ford a confused look.  


Ford looked away shiftily. "Isn't that what one is supposed to do when they put someone to bed?" It was hard to see in the starlight, but he was blushing slightly.  


"Only if you're my mother." Arthur muttered darkly. He stared out into the night for a few seconds, processing. Even before the destruction of the Earth the two had always been reasonably close, and as things were now, Ford was quite possibly the only friend Arthur had. And the action had been comforting, until he had realized exactly what was going on, and been startled. He relaxed.  


"Nevermind, actually. You're fine."  


"Am I?" Ford sounded confused, as though he expected more of a confrontation. "So you don't mind...the kissing?"  


"Well, I'd hardly call that a kiss. I mean, it was just a comfort thing, wasn't it?" Arthur sat up, pulling just enough away that the two were no longer touching, although he could still feel the radiant warmth from the alien's side. "You were tucking me into bed, and so you gave me a comforting kiss on the head."  


"Ah." Ford looked up at him guiltily. "Right. Only a comforting kiss." He looked away from Arthur and sighed slightly.  


Arthur narrowed his eyes. "It wasn't just a comforting kiss?"  


"No, not really." Ford replied immediately. His tone was flippant, trying too hard to sound as though he didn't care. "But that's entirely besides the point, and it doesn't matter anyways, and really, you should try to--"  


"--Ford?" Arthur asked the one question he hadn't ever gotten around to, perhaps because he'd never really wanted to know the answer. "Why did you rescue _me_ of all people from Earth?"

***

There was a long and awkward silence.

***

"Well, I figured I should take someone with me. You know, for posterity, keeping a human alive for study, that sort of thing. And I like traveling with people, I always have." Ford was speaking in a rush, enough that the last part was almost imperceptible. "And I have always been very fond of you."  


Arthur blinked, sorting out the words and their meaning. "Ah." he said at last. Fond of him. Yes, of course, that explained everything. All the torments and tortures of the last several months, being dragged throughout the galaxy in a near-constant state of culture shock. It was because Ford was _fond_ of him that he did this to Arthur.  


Arthur paused in his thinking. Because to be perfectly fair, he could have long since settled down somewhere if he'd wanted to. Oh sure, for the first few weeks there had been Trillian, and for a time after that there'd been a sense of loyalty to the person who saved him, but really, they'd crossed plenty of civilized planets. He didn't have to stay with Ford.  


"I...I think I'm fond of you too, Ford. Yes, quite fond. Thank you." Arthur was smiling, he felt like he'd finally found the last piece of an elusive jigsaw puzzle and fitted it into place. He was fond of Ford, yes of course, that was why he was so willing to let the insane alien drag him across all of time and space. Everything made sense.  


Ford's eyes went a bit wider than usual. "Oh!" he said, and he sounded quite surprised. "Oh, well then. In that case I have a quite different suggestion for what we do while we wait for the ship."  


"Yes?"  


"We fuck like bunnies!" Ford launched into a rapid explanation of several of the most obscene acts a pair could do this side of Eroticon 6. Arthur found himself blushing quite thoroughly, but when Ford finished his litany, he nodded, strangely pleased.  


"All that in only four hours though?"  


Ford flung an arm around Arthur's shoulders, squeezing the spaceman tight. "We've got the all of time and space, baby!" Then he kissed Arthur, quite hard. If ever a kiss could be smug, this one certainly qualified. There was a wicked gleam in the spaceman's eyes as he pulled away. "You just come along with me and have a good time."  


"You know, you keep saying that to me." Arthur murmured, leaning into Ford's embrace. "It's about time you finally made good on the threat." He tilted his head up, and they kissed again, and for the first time in a long time, everything seemed to be about right in the universe.

*************

[1] To properly prepare Pickled Floogarian Duckfish, one must first obtain no fewer than a dozen of the galaxy's finest spices --it doesn't particularly matter which, but they must be very fine. Boil the spices in six quarts of 307 ale, the universe's first and finest hyper-beer. Drop the duckfish, still squawking, into the mixture and let simmer for one hour. Remove from heat, hit the duckfish solidly over the head with a small sledgehammer, and drain. Serves two.

[2] There is a forward to the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy specifically on the subject of having adventures. It says: Don't. Ever. While you may _think_ you would enjoy gallivanting across planets, running away from the worst the universe has to offer, outsmarting, outbluffing, and outfighting aliens from a hundred thousand million different races, the truth is most people much prefer to stay at home, or in a nice well-made spaceship, and drink a good cup of tea.

But if you can't get the tea, you might as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for lovelokest for Yuletide 2011! I was asked for something in which Ford and Arthur find themselves on a cold planet and have to huddle together for warmth. Hopefully, this qualifies.
> 
> I really hope you like it, lovelokest! I am sorry if it feels a little clumsy at points --serves me right to try and write a Yuletide fic while starting a new job.


End file.
